by Hong-My Basrai

There is so much to say about Don Giovanni that I do not know how to begin.  Giovanni, or Juan, is a character larger than life, hated and revered altogether. 

An unrepentant womanizer, John Dunne’s Don Juan “can love both fair and browne­­­­——I can love her, and her, and you and you….”  Lord Byron’s Juan, contrarily, is a Mama’s Boy whose virginity was pilfered by the manipulative Julia, who “vow’d she never would see Juan more, and next day paid a visit to his mother….” 

But never mind how he was turned into a playboy, never mind his original loving nature and inclination to seek solace in his maternal lap.  Who is this legendary playboy, this Don Giovanni set forth by the librettist Lorenzo Da Ponte, whose first breath was drawn from the first note W. A. Mozart had given him, and who, for a few days of May this year, would be portrayed by ROC?

            Wondering, I set out eager to meet my date.  Giovanni has to convince me that a man like him, known worldwide for centuries to be corrupted, can truly still impress the hearts of today’s sensible women, and that the dazzling, sweet-talking Giovanni in days of yore is still lovable.

As the first musical chords (Brian Farrell, pianist, Musical Director) struck the air three times, the music alone, unassisted by the dimming light or lifted curtain, places the audience securely in a time and place where men still sheathe their swords and virgins sleep inside the four walls of their parents’ properties. 

The legend of Don Giovanni (Colin Ramsey, bass baritone) unfolds right before our eyes in the garden of the Commendatore—Knight of a Chivalry Order (Joel Huanca, bass), underneath the marbled colonnade.  We hear footsteps—four strides followed by quick tiptoeing—in a rising succession of detached eighth and rising sixteenth, then Leporello (Arthur Freeman, bass), Don Giovanni’s male servant, appears.  A brown, broad-brimmed hat covers the man’s head.  With bag slung across his shoulder, the middle-aged servant dejectedly kicked about while waiting for the return of his master from somewhere within.  Listening in like spies, we share his feelings as he pitifully lists his grievances, addressed to no one but the silent columns: “Notte e giorno faticar per chi nulla sa gradir—slaving day and night for whom nothing pleases.”  It is too late for him to seek a better life with another master, as it is too late for us not to warm up to him, although we soon discover he is nothing but Giovanni’s spineless accomplice for the attempted rape of Donna Anna (Leslie Dennis, soprano). 

And so, throughout the plots, the meek servant, Giovanni’s sounding board and terrified conscience, never loses our compassion; as when he escapes with Don Giovanni from Donna Anna’s shriek, her father murdered, her household staff and betrothed Ottavio summoned too late; or when he confronts his master about his debauched lifestyle.  Our compassion for the old man only increases as his master’s ugly nature is revealed to him time and again, as when Giovanni devises to trick Donna Elvira (Jade lin Hornbaker, soprano) a second time, Elvira whom he married and left within three days for other conquests like Zerlina (Lawren Donahue, soprano). 

Through Leporello, we acquaint with Giovanni’s past.  To Elvira Leporello handed a notebook with hundreds of female names, a record of Giovanni’s victims he has kept for himself, telling her, “e v’han donne d’ogni grado, d’ogni forma, d’ogni età —women of every rank, of every size, of every age.”

Leporello holds our sympathy because he represents many of us, weaklings trapped by life’s circumstances and made impotent in inextricable situations.  But how do I explain our fascination with Mozart’s Giovanni?  His inexpiable freakish nature is plain for all to see.  Throughout his life, he remains a constant liar, a brute who bites the hand that feeds him and bleeds the hearts of those who love him.  He never stops to reflect on his exploitative motives.  His first aria arrives only toward the end of Act I when he urges Leporello to “Fin ch’han dal vino calda la testa, una grand festa fa preparar—now prepare a great feast until the wine makes all heads reel.”

Yet, the women he continuously deceives actively pursue him.  Is it really for revenge or for his love?  More mysterious still, Mozart’s Giovanni evokes positive feelings in men, even the ones he has wronged.  Leporello remains faithful, even protective of him.  Ottavio (Matt Dunn, tenor), a Don of equal station, admires him: “Bisogno abbiamo della vostra amicizia—we have sore need of your friendship,” and secretly, is ready to question his guilt: “A chi si crederà?  Certo moto d’ignoto tormento dentro l’alma gigare mi sento—which am I to believe?  I feel some strange suspicion stirring in my breast.”

Men like Masetto (Kevin Wiley, bass), whose lowly background has taught him to be instinctively distrustful of the dazzling Don, cannot avoid from being duped and beaten by Giovanni, even right after he has almost lost his wife-to-be, the frivolous Zerlina, to the Don, not once, but twice. 

Having met Giovanni in person, I ask myself this question: can Giovanni ever spring alive in a setting outside the opera’s stage, through the means of more sophisticated media like, say, a 3D movie?  My guess is no—as long as we remain human.  Human’s senses crave for Don Giovanni in flesh and blood.  He can only time travel to us on live, energetic long limbs, waltzing from those pairs of arms to these pairs of breasts, his boyish good looks most enhanced, most enticing when he raises his baritone timbre and fills the air with mirth and derision.

Kiss me before we part, Giovanni.  See you again soon.      

Read about Hong-My's book at http://behindtheredcurtainamemoir.blogspot.com/

Il Trovatore:  An Audience Experience

By Hong-My Basrai

Four gray columns in the center stage suggest a courtyard.  High above the emptiness and silence, a soft light glows inside an arched window.   The first sound rumbles through (Brian Farrell, piano), the felt hammers straddling the low octave repetitively, punching the air drum-like.  As Fernando (Sean Hughes, bass) appears in brown habit, the notes soar and swirl, inundating Pomona’s First Christian Church with the first waves of sound.  Again, muteness imposes.  Then Fernando’s sonorous, three-syllable cry, twice uttered, “All'er-ta, all'er-ta!” plunges the audience into the four-act drama of persecution, revenge, and filial loyalty caught in a love triangle.

Sparing Verdi’s Il Trovatore of visual distractions, Repertory Opera Company (ROC) relies instead entirely on its vocalists’ lung power and dramatization skills to enchant its audience.  The sublime music engages us from scene to scene through the acts.   Like the soldiers (ROC chorus) assembling around Fernando, bewitched by the recitative about a witch burned long ago, my husband and I let the music cast a strange spell on our senses.  An alternate reality sets in with each come-and-go movement upstage.  When Leonora (Lindsay Feldmeth, soprano), in celeste blue garb over burgundy gown and accompanied by Ines (Rachel Payne, Mezzo-soprano), claims the air with her soaring timbre, her angelic face holds us spell-bound by the torment of her love for the troubadour.  “…s'io non vivrò per esso, per esso io morirò…—…if lived without my heart I’d rather die….”  I find myself gasping for air at the end of her crystalline aria.

Trailing on beautiful Leonora’s steps, Count di Luna (Raul Matas, baritone), a handsome figure in dark uniform, strides in, serenading his belle in a deep, cavernous tone, his masculine vibe undoubtedly conquering all the female hearts in the audience.  Before he can catch his next breath, in the distance, the singing of Manrico, the troubadour (James Salazar, tenor), echoes, “Deserto sulla terra….”  Running out to meet him in the imaginative shadow of a beguiled moon, Leonora throws herself into the waiting arms of the amorous count instead.  Animated with mutual hatred, the two love rivals pull out their swords and fight, swapping melodies of low and high baying, ignoring Leonora’s strident supplication.  Their blending voices, intoned in a wide vocal range, train our ears to new heights of pleasure.

Between scenes, as ROC’s staff sets up the stage in quick and silent motions, they involuntarily provide us with an educational diversion.  We realize then, however little or simple, change to the setting in opera is necessary to create the illusion of time and space movement, so that the inspired imaginations can take wings. 

The lively gypsy camp replaces the solemn courtyard towered by the gray columns.  Giggling girls, with hair loosely wrapped in red kerchiefs, run about happily amidst old gypsies.  The rhythmic punctuation of hammers on metal in the resuming music hints at the famous Anvil Chorus.  The merry, four-beat tune incites our feet to tap and hands to clap along in an abandoned festivity.  Steadily, the clanking of anvils becomes more urgent and haunting, more like the striking of a clock announcing the evil hours.  Sitting away in a corner, the witch’s daughter, Azucena (LizBeth Lucca, contralto), swaying in a clipped and grave incantation, “Stride la vampa—up leaps the flame,” works up the memory of an infant son cast into the flame of a fire. 

Aria after aria, the vocalists fill the air alternately with hope, love, desperate jealousy, and wickedness to move the story forward role by role until the finale.  In the end, I wish for the return of the Anvil Chorus to hammer away Azucena’s triumphant shriek, like the devil’s laughter, “Sei vendicata, o madre!--Oh Mother!  You’re avenged,” and Count di Luna’s anguished cry, “E vivo ancor!--And I still live,” finally realizing he had murdered his own brother.

Wicked, hauntingly wicked!  Somehow I have the impression that ROC’s Il Trovatore is a perfect gift for the month of October.


Read about Hong-My's book at
http://behindtheredcurtainamemoir.blogspot.com/

Take Three Anvils And Call Call Me In The Morning

by Steve Grabe

When asked what it takes to perform Giuseppe Verdi’s Il Trovatore, the legendary tenor Enrico Caruso once said, “Four of the best singers in the world.” Portions of the opera—such as the “Anvil chorus,” “Di quella pira,” and “Stride la vampa,” are part of the collective conscience of the Western world. Repertory Opera Company (ROC) is a community-based troupe; and while one may not get world-class production values, the audience gets to witness up close the enthusiasm and elation/fear that are no less real for the amateur than the seasoned professional when performing a truly great work.

 

With ROC’s Trovatore, the simplicity of sets and costumes allowed me to concentrate on the performances and the sheer volume of great tunes I was unaware the show contained. The program notes amply provided the background for the stage action. I enjoyed the chorus’ rousing singing and sure entrances along with the clanking steel of the anvil chorus.  The adult ensemble members did an excellent job, however one can’t be blamed for loving the children dressed in gypsy garb and smiling from ear to ear. The leads did an admirable job with this daunting score, which was masterfully played by music director Brian Farrell.

 

There is always the question of which character commands the most focus of Il Trovatore: Manrico, Azucena, or Leonora. Poor Count di Luna never seems to be in contention. As I write this I keep going round and round myself. This may be one of the problems and yet virtues of the show. Regardless of the story the show is a progression of one great tune after another and I just can’t pick which is best.

 

One of the greatest pleasures I get from listening to operas is hearing excellent ensemble work among the leads, and I heard it with both casts. The Manricos, Steve Moritsugu and James Salazar, along with Raul Matas’ Count di Luna, are to be commended.

 

The two Azucenas, Debbie Dey and LizBeth Lucca, owned the second act with commanding but different renditions “Stride la vampa” and the 4th act duet with respective Manricos were at once beautiful and heart wrenching. This was the first time Ms. Lucca has performed in a show she has directed since ROC moved to Pomona.

 

Call me a tenor but in this production the Leonoras stole my heart. Lindsay Feldmeth and Coril Prochnow truly wowed me with their arias.

 

The singers helping the leads move the story along: Mark Palmer/Sean Hughes (Ferrando), Lawren Donahue/Rachel Payne (Ines), Eddie Sayles/Jonathan Tran (Ruiz), Darby Eccles (Gypsy Leader), and Joe Prokop (Messenger) carried out their charges with confidence and aplomb.

 

Lastly, I must note what a pleasant experience was provided by the First Christian Church from having ample parking, joyfully sharing their Sanctuary and facilities, to having an excellent and well-tuned piano. The Church helped make the performances a community event by embracing this small company. This Saturday at 2:00 pm is the last performance.

The simplicity of the stage is as beguiling as the white handkerchief in the hand of a magician.  On the left sits a black stove furnace, and a few steps from it, an easel.  The pianist in his black outfit slides into his chair and merges as one with his instrument, quiet for the moment and seemingly lifeless. 

Once the light dims, bathing the audience in a shadowy darkness, the center stage comes to life in bright, flooded light and fast music.  Marcello, the painter, in brown shirt and checkered red scarf, is seen absorbed in front of his easel.  In a corner, a few steps higher and to the right of the stage, is Rodolfo, the poet, shivering under a blanket. 

Thus, Act I of Puccini’s La Bohème opens to transport the audience of Repertory Opera Company (ROC) into another time and place far away from the wooden benches of First Christian Church in Pomona.  The dissociation with reality is immediate, for at once, the audience is thrust into a world of lyrical communication in lovely but incomprehensible Italian—without subtitles.  Those who attend with little preparation are baffled at first by the strange words that Rodolfo and Marcello pass back and forth to one another in a throaty tenor.  What are they singing, shivering thus in an imagined coldness? 

The uninitiated to opera arrive like tourists in a strange land.  We try to interpret the characters’ emotions by the rise and dip of their voices, gestures and facial expressions.  Slowly, steadily, the music lures us into their drafty Latin Quarter loft.  We follow Mimi, the beautiful Mimi and her crystalline voice, a candle trembling in her hand.  Her soprano voice soars in distress.  She does not find her key but Rodolfo’s hand instead; and he, bellowing, “Che gelida manina...,”—“how cold is your hand,” is thankful for the darkness and Mimi’s chilled hand.

Opera, the intriguing performing art that brings love, death, sword fight, and laughter to the multitude, is like coffee.  One learns to appreciate the bitter taste one sip at a time.  In La Bohème, the arrival of the toy vendor Parpignol and the merry group dance in Act II is the spoonful of sugar that improves the taste of this exotic cup.  Musette’s flirtatious entrance with “Quando Me'n Vo'” is the rich cream that flavors the dark liquid and sweetens the untrained tongue.

ROC’s simplicity is the magic under the white handkerchief that, once lifted, transforms the experience of the first operagoers.  Once the refined taste of this rich cup of roasted bean is acquired, addicted, one would go back for more.

 Comment provided by Hong-My Basrai.

Another free picture collage by Smilebox

Henri Louis-Murger (1822-1861), a writer who, after leaving school at 15, supported himself with various menial jobs published his first novel Scènes de la vie de bohème in 1847. In 1849, the story became a play and was taken up into later incarnations as a zarzuela (Bohemios by Amadeu Vives), an operetta (Das Veilchen von Montmartre by Kálmán) and, most recently, the Broadway musical (Rent). Of course, the story also received two full operatic treatments by Leoncavallo (La bohème) and Puccini (La Bohème).

As background, Leoncavallo (1857-1919) wrote about twenty opera, only one of which, his first, I Pagliacci (1892), achieved a lasting life on the international stage.

Puccini (1858-1924), on the other hand, became an operatic legend – just think of La Bohème, Madama Butterfly, Tosca, Manon Lescaut and Turandot. (Birgit Nilsson once remarked that Tristan and Isolde made her famous, Turandot made her rich. A 26 year old Luciano Pavarotti made his debut as Rodolfo in April 1961 at the Teatro Municipale in Reggio Emilia and it was that role that was eventually to propel him to stardom.)

But I digress …

History shows us that Puccini's version not only eclipsed Leoncavallo's setting, but ranks among the most popular operas in the world based on performance numbers. At present, according to ArkivMusic.com there are some 90 recordings and 16 DVDs in the market!

Full disclosure:  I admit to having never heard Leoncavallo's version, and there is, no doubt, beautiful, inventive and inspiring music. This is an opera story that can surely benefit from the verismo style that Leoncavallo championed in his music.

The theme of the Leoncavallo's and Puccini's operas is similar – starving artists striving to celebrate life while making a living in an inhospitable and hostile world. As four artists – a painter, a musician, a poet and philosopher – they contemplate and express the world to enlighten it as they perceive it best. In the process, they discovered the true value of the expression A penny for your thoughts.

To read a synopsis of the Leoncavallo treatment, today, reads a little like a parody. A thoughtful hearing might be in order here.

By way of background, the story is based on Henri Murger's own life as a struggling and starving artist along with the company of his friends who called themselves the "Water Drinkers" since they couldn't afford wine. In an irony of fate, even with the popular novel and stage play, Murger never really got to enjoy the fruits and comforts of success and died in poverty at 39. Were he alive, what would he have thought that at his funeral he was honored with the attendance of some 250 luminaries of journalism, literature, theater and the arts. Would have have found comfort that Le Figaro launched a fund in his honor and that, within two months, hundreds of people contributed about 6,500 francs to raise a monument which today graces the Jardin du Luxembourg in Paris. He may have died in penury, but the celebration of irony richly lives on.
Back to La Bohème -- what impresses me about the dueling operatic versions is how they are framed in the context of time– Leoncavallo's goes from Christmas to Christmas, while Puccini's goes from Christmas to Shrove Thursday (Berlinghaccio – a Tuscan version of Mardi Gras). The framework, I believe, can lead to the telling of very different stories.

Christmas to Christmas completes a cycle which, in this case, would be one of arising in darkness (and and that is associated with that) and expiring in darkness -- a kind of Three Penny Götterdämmerung -- while Christmas to Shrove tells me that the earthly trials of love, hunger, and the search for meaning through hope and despair do not go unnoticed according to lessons from Heaven. As darkness and chaos eventually are blessed with light, so goes this story.

A brief reading of the Puccini's libretto (authored by Luigi Illica and Giuseppe Giacosa) includes a host of references to biblical imagery if you choose to closely follow the imagery. (The music is so beautiful and seductive that that alone is a kind of trial.) The images can serve as a metaphor to underscore the subtler subject of the opera, which I believe is:  questions of life to which religion is the answer – Why am I here?; How am I to live?; and, What part, if any, does love play in this experience of life?

The spark of love that leaps between Rodolfo (name: noble wolf) and Lucia (name: source of light) begins with the lighting of a single candle on Christmas eve – among the darkest, and in their case, hungriest nights of the year when all celebrate in faith the rebirth of the sun and the promise of lighter and happier days.
The end of the opera, or rather the next phase of Rodolfo's and Lucia's love, abruptly interrupts the heady frolicking on Shrove Thursday, the night before the season of serious contemplation begins. As Lucia lays dying, we attend the scene with an understanding which the music plays on our heartstrings and which we recognize as a scene of love transcending death.

There is a reason why this opera is so beloved the world 'round. There is, of course, the opulent music, the vocal beauty, the humor and the spectacle. There is the story which tells of the love of Rodolfo and Mimi and the friendships they share with their life's cohorts. There is another story that the opera richly refers to -- our own. ***

(Arthur Freeman is one of the founders of Repertory Opera Company and he will be singing Benoit in our upcoming production of La Boheme.)

Click on Image to enlarge

Here are some of the younger members of our
La Bohème cast. 
Don't miss this great show. 
For tickets go to http://www.repertoryoperacompany.org/Buy_Tickets.html